


The Freelancer Fictional Fighting Tourney!

by Espileon707



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anxiety, Articulation issues, Crushes, Got third place!, I gave Agent Washington so many of my issues, I made this for the last Fluff week, M/M, Made up Language, Multi, So proud!, Video Game language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espileon707/pseuds/Espileon707
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freelancers have been duking it out on an old copy of a popular fighting game and now its the final rounds. Winner gets to fight the champion, but no one knows who it is. Who will claim the title of Freelancer Fictional Fighting Champ?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Freelancer Fictional Fighting Tourney!

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece for the last Fluff war on Tumblr and ti won third place! I figured I'd post it now since the next fluff week is upon us soon! Enjoy! Please comment!

 

It had all started a few months ago, or was it a year ago? No one really remembers when the madness started, just that it did. It had started with a bored York, and CT waiting in what could only be called the “Common area”. It was a lounge of some kind, with stiff chairs that the Councilor loved because they kept the agents awake, and a TV. It was an older TV, one of those early plasma screen models that would burn an image of a paused movie into the screen if left on too long. Over the years of the project different agents and staff members began to lay claim to the lounge. More comfortable cushions, blankets, a table or two, and even someone’s long loved stuffed bear made it into the room. No one removed the added gear, it made the space homey and everyone used lounge for breaks when they could.

But that’s off subject. What mattered was that CT and York were taking what was supposed to be a short 15 minute break before one of the many classes on AI began. Instead of showing up late, neither agent ever arrived. It was Wash who found them first, hunched over what looked to be ancient game controllers. They were playing a gladiator style fighting game that pitted the players against one another. They were so engrossed in the game that they didn’t notice Wash until he asked to join.

Then Florida found them and asked to jump into the fray. Then soon almost every Agent in the project wanted to try their hand at the game. Once Carolina took up a controller, with Maine tailing into the room behind her, after nearly four hours of looking for the other agents, the fun and games became more competitive.

And thus the Freelancer Fictional Fighting Tourney began. Slowly over the course of many breaks and off days, the freelancers began to fall away to the prowess of the nine finalists.

Though he excelled with a long ranged fighter who called upon magical arrows for great bursts of damage, North was excellent as almost every available fighter. North used tactics to his advantage.

York was surprisingly good at a single character. It was a small unassuming bloke with massive ears and a knack for going invisible and dealing lots of small amounts of damage. York edge guarded with reckless abandon, constantly knocking his opponents further and further from the stage until they fell.

Carolina stuck to a Fighter with amazing hand to hand combat skills. She dove into the fray head first, and was excellent at hitting the right person at the right time. She would never admit to button mashing her way towards victory.

Florida switched characters faster than he could switch his mood. No one could ever pin down who he would play, but he always had the same strategy. He was excellent at avoiding conflict until everyone else had died at least twice, then he would swoop in and deal the final blows.

Wyoming stuck to a brutish looking Fighter, with a massive axe and very little in the way of armor. He charged into battle much like Carolina but actually knew what he was doing. He knew how to time his attacks perfectly to land a few one-hit kills then back away to avoid death.

CT enjoyed two characters. A large muscular woman with hand to hand abilities and a slow movement speed, and a smaller more stealthy character that relied on stealing the health of other players to fight. She knew which character to use based on who was playing against her and used her strengths and weaknesses to her advantage.

479er always picked random for her character. Her tactics were to shout as loudly as possible and to freak out her opponents then slide in and kill the player with a well-placed button mashing. It was a marvel she made it as far as she did.

Wash way better at the game than the other agents initially thought. Wash could play any character but preferred a jack of all trades fighter over the other specialized ones. He would go in and deal decent damage, while using items and the stage to his advantage to trounce his opponents.

Then there was a final, unknown player. Whoever they were, they owned the console and the game and had made it known when the tournament began, that if anyone wanted to be champion they had to beat them first. They would not participate in the official tourney, but they would appear for the final round when their title was challenged.

Now here came the issue. There were nine players left, and to everyone’s surprise they had 36 hours of leave to do as they pleased before their next mission. Well it wasn’t so much an issue as it was the preparation for one hell of a show. 

“Then we all agree?” 479er asked over the cafeteria table to her future enemies in the tourney. All assembled Agents nodded.

“Tonight at 20:00 tonight in the Common space. Me, North, Florida, and Carolina fight for two of the final spaces in the semi-finals,” York said calmly. In truth he was on edge, but then again so was Florida if the creepy ‘Approach me and I’ll skin you’ vibe meant anything.

“Then afterwards, Wash, CT, Wyoming and I will duke it out for the final two spaces.”

“We can discuss the final round after the final four are chosen. But for now, you all have three hours to prepare for war. I expect to see you all in top condition,” Carolina said as she stood up and began to walk out of the cafeteria. Florida nodded and silently left with Wyoming at his heels, and CT and 479er followed as soon as the two lovebirds were out of sight.

“What’s got you so tight Wash? ‘fraid you’re gonna choke?” York asked, poking Wash’s helmet. Wash batted away the hand and shook his head.

“No. I know the game, I think I have a pretty good chance against CT and Wyoming.”

“479er might be harder to deal with. You jump too easily,” North pointed out. And Wash scoffed.

“I do not! Besides, even when panicked I think I can still play better than her. All she does is button mash like a five year old.” Wash paused. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I don’t know, might make good blackmail material for the final round,” York joked, but Wash was sure he was half serious. “But seriously Wash, what’s got you so tight? You’ve been dancing around this meeting for some time. Worried we’ll ask embarrassing questions about your childhood?”

“What? No! It’s just that…” Wash froze mid-sentence and York and North could see the gears turning.

“Slow it down, Wash. One word at a time. If you can’t think of it use the definition.” North prompted and Wash snapped to face him. If the man actually took off his helmet to eat then maybe North would see the halfhearted glare.

“Thanks. I know the drill, North.”

“Just trying to help.”

“So what? Come on, Wash!” York urged.

“Jesus, York, let Wash get the words together!”

“I swear I’ve seen this game before!” Wash blurted out, having given up on trying to sound anything close to articulate.

“Uh Wash? Do I need to take you over to medical again?”

“What? North, no! Let me explain-”

“You sure you don’t have some head injury we don’t know about? I could go get Maine to carry you over to Medical. I know you like that!” York offered, his voice playful and knowing. Under his helmet Wash blushed.

“No! I’m fine!”

“Really? ‘cause, Wash you told us you played the game as a kid. Hell, you’re the one who told us what console we were using and how to fix the game when it stopped working!” York said.

“Who knew you could find a working GameCube in this century?” North mused.

“Miracles. They happen,” Wash deadpanned. “Look, I mean that I think I’ve seen someone else playing it, like before we found it.”

Suddenly both York and North were leaning in looking attentive and almost conspiratory.

“You’ve seen the Champion? Dude! Why didn’t you say so sooner?” York hissed as North’s eyes darted around the Cafeteria, checking to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

“Look, I don’t know if I did, the memory’s kinda fuzzy, but I swear I saw someone playing the game a few weeks before you and CT found it.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here. What is it, Wash?” North’s Dad voice came out in full swing and Wash groaned.

“No way avoiding it,” He hissed as he steeled himself for a lecture. “I had been injured and was barely conscious. It was late and I was trying to-”

“Avoid medical,” North deadpanned, and Wash could feel the lecture boiling just behind North’s lips.

“Yes, look I didn’t get a clear view and my head was already swimming. If it helps the next thing I know I’m waking up in Medical and being cleared to go back to active duty.” That seemed to quell North’s lecture, but Wash was still getting the Disapproving Father look which was just as bad. No one liked disappointing North, save South and Carolina but those were special circumstances.

“So you might have caught a glimpse of our mystery Champion, but you don’t know because you were injured,” York filled in and Wash nodded. “So the memory’s been eating at you and you don’t want to know if you actually saw them.”

“I want to know but--” Wash shut his mouth quickly and York’s eyes widened.

“You think you know who it is, don’t you?”

“I’m leaving.” Wash stood up abruptly, and sprinted from the cafeteria. York was immediately at his heels shouting for the other man to come back. North simply sighed and cleared everyone’s meals from the table before calmly walking towards the Common space.

Maybe he could get in a bit of practice before his round began?

 

Every agent on leave came to the final rounds. Nearly twenty agents were packed into the small space, lying haphazardly and unabashedly on each other and on every available surface that was not obscuring the TV and the controllers. Wash found himself sitting rather comfortably on South’s lap with 479er’s feet on his stomach and Wyoming’s head resting against his leg. And for once, Wash was without his armor…

Mostly.

He kept the helmet on, and no one was going to take that away from him, and no one tried. No one tired because it was quickly discovered that the reason Wash loved cats so much, was because he was practically half cat. If he wanted to hide, he would not be found. So after losing him on the MOI for a few hours after York tried to remove his helmet, it was agreed that no one would try to take it off without Wash’s permission. And there was only one Freelancer Wash would grant that honor to.

Too bad the man didn’t seem to be interested. Wash was fine with keeping it friendly, but damn did he want to climb that wall of muscle like a tree!

Speaking of the wall, Maine was sitting comfortably nearby, with no one to cuddle with… Maybe he could--

“Hey Maine! Catch!” Wash was caught off guard as he was suddenly flung over the heads of several agents by South and into Maine’s waiting arms.

“Jesus, South! What the hell?”

“What do you want from me, an apology letter? You were breaking my legs here!” South shot back, but Wash saw the glimmer in her eyes and knew full well she threw him just to get him near Maine.

Fuck his teammates for trying to set him up with his crush, who is clearly uninterested! Fuck. Them.

“Sorry about that, I can--” Wash didn’t get to finish as the lights dimmed and Maine pulled him back down onto his lap. The large, bald man kept his usual scowl as he lightly growled to Wash.

“Stay. About to start,” Wash obeyed, settling down on the much larger man’s lap as York stood up before the lit TV. The theme music for character select played softly in the background and the TV lit York up like some kind of hellish Angel. Or at least, one very naughty Angel with a knack for taking your stuff and making an annoyance of himself. Not that Wash minded, he and York had some very… interesting encounters. Wash regretted none of it because, what the hell, the sex had been very, very, exciting.

“Alright! Agents! Staff! And banshees that claim to be related to North,”

“Fuck you!” South shouted to York who only chuckled.

“We gather here today to finally answer that age old question. Who is the Champion of the Freelancer Fictional Fighting Tourney!?” Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd and Wash watched as York basked in the attention.

“Now it’s going to go down like so. The first and second place winners from both groups of four in this round will move on to fight in the semi-final round. The winner of the Semi-Final will then fight our mystery Champion for the title and bragging rights of being Project Freelancer’s Top Fictional Fighter!” There was another round of cheering and Wash could hear bets being placed over the din.

“Alright! Ten minutes on the clock! Players ready?” Carolina, North, and Florida gripped their controllers like they were in a fire fight. York smiled, his hand raised. “Begin!”

York dashed back to his seat and grabbed his controller as the room descended into madness. Agents cheered on their favorites or tried to distract the other players in the hopes that they might win the betting pool. Wash simply watched silently, his eyes following the characters on screen. He got so entranced he almost forgot he was sitting on Maine’s lap. Almost. Wash found it hard to forget Maine.

Five minutes in and Wash was treated to a rare thing indeed.

“Carolina’s winning.” Maine’s deep, growling voice pulled Wash back from his observation of the game. Wash shook his head.

“No, she’s not. York’s also fallen behind. North’s managed to get more kills because of his range, and he’s fallen off the stage more than once trying to escape Carolina’s mad attacks. But no one’s even touched Florida and he’s been landing the killing blows on more than one occasion. My money’s firmly on North and Florida.”

“Take that bet.” It took Wash a few seconds to register than he had just placed a bet with Maine and before he could work up the mental ability to articulate a response the game had ended with an eruption of cheers of victory and shouts of loss.

Wash was right, Florida came in first, only because no one remembered to hit him, and North came in second. Suddenly Wash found himself being hoisted into the air and placed down on the couch before the TV screen.

“Good luck,” Maine hissed into Wash’s ear as the room began to settle down once more. Desperate to control his raging mind as it grasped for words and phrases Wash scooped up the controller and gripped it tightly. CT, 479er and Wyoming took their seats next to him and York took the stage once more.

Then with the flip of a wrist and a call from York the game began and Wash was in his element.

Wash knew words failed him. He never knew how else to explain it. He forgot words in the middle of sentences, he confused definitions, and sometimes he said one thing but everyone else heard another. It made his early life hell, he could barely talk to anyone. He relied heavily on nondescript sounds to get his feelings and emotions across, but that caused a lot of grief in the long run so he trained himself to hold back the squeaks and groans. But video games, they didn’t get muddled in his head. This game in particular was a language of its own and Wash was fluent.

Now, Wash had figured out how to get his basic thoughts across through words. He never sounded intelligent, but hey, his teammates could understand when he was telling them to take cover rather than assuming he meant they were safe to go. It helped that North and the rest of his team were patient enough and tried to help him find the words he was missing. If South helped in her own, abrasive and rude, way, then Wash was ok with that. He still kept the dictionary program she had slammed on the cafeteria table early on in the project. He used it often and had managed to link it to his visor so he could pull up missing words on the fly.

But Wash still had problems, more often than not and found himself missing his ancient video games and the language they presented. Then the tourney started and Wash found himself immersed back in the language of the game, a language only he seemed to understand. It was a relatively simple language, it was all in the ways your opponents fought you.

For example, in this very moment CT was trying to leech the life out of Wyoming’s character after he had nearly one-hit KO’d 479er. Protective. CT was telling 479er that she would not walk away from her when things got tough. They were on good terms. When Florida was fighting North he specifically targeted him more than once and turned North’s attacks against York. Florida was voicing displeasure at York. Considering York took Florida’s favorite time slot for individual training in the Training room, Wash was not surprised that Florida was pissed.

The language was simple, and Wash was fluent. Maybe that was why he won the battles so easily?

“And that’s game!” York’s call peeled over the rising cheers as Wash came back to the present. He had won second with CT taking first. He needed to focus better in the next round if he wanted to win.

Oh, did he want to win! If he was right about who the Champion was, he wanted to win. Even if he was wrong, he wanted to see just how good they were, and if they could speak the game’s language.

Wash settled down and turned all of his attention to the game. Florida took up a small very quick fighter who specialized in setting traps for the other players to forget and wander into. CT chose her large tank. North stuck to his ranged Archer. Wash looked over the assembled characters and decided to stick with his own Jack of All Trades fighter.

Then with a flourish and a shout, the game began once more. This time, Wash focused not just on reading the game, actually fighting as well. For ten minutes Wash shifted from focusing on giving Florida hell, as pay back for helping York acquire his old skateboard, to setting up CT to take North’s hits, retribution for a prank last week, and then finally on getting North to simply trip over the edge of the stage. No malice there, it was just funny to watch North flail when he killed himself. Though all the while he could hear the cheers of his fellow Freelancers and under the shrieks and urgings for blood, ‘Calm down South, Holy Fuck!’, Wash could distinguish a distinct, silent growl. If it was louder Wash knew it would form words, but it was Maine, he never spoke up unless he needed to.

Ten minutes passed by quickly and soon the game was called. Wash held his breath as the results came in.

North took last, he fell off too much. Florida took third, Wash had done his job right and both killed Florida himself, and reminded North and CT that he existed.

Then the crowd roared with excitement as CT showed up… in Second place. The room watched as Wash ascended to first place and after a moment of silence the room erupted back into cheers. Wash released the breath he had been holding.

“Nicely played!” Florida’s sickly sweet voice joined a firm clap on Wash’s back. Wash coughed at the hit, knowing full well that Florida hit a little too hard on purpose.

“Thanks,” Wash supplied after Florida had wandered off to lounge on Wyoming. CT gave Wash a small smile in congratulations and North was dragged off by South before he could say anything. Something about, ‘not talking to wimpy winners’. That was South for you, sore loser even when she didn’t lose.

“Alright everyone, settle down!” York stood before the screen again, his eyes a light with excitement. “We have our winner, our challenger for the Champion!”

Cheers erupted once more but quieted quickly to let York continue.

“He will represent those of us who spent hours slaving over fickle controllers, unresponsive discs, and wires that someone, Wyoming, cut.” York tried to cover his accusation with a cough, but it of course failed and a cup went sailing at his head. York ducked as the room laughed. “Hey, just stating facts here! But this man will be representing those of us who did not survive the trials of the Freelancer Fictional Fighting Tourney. So without further ado, if the mystery Champion would please step forward!”

There was a moment of stillness as everyone waited to see who would rise from their seat. Wash began to fear that there was no Champion, that this was all a prank after a minute of stillness. Then a chair creaked behind him and heavy footsteps began to approach the couch. Wash’s head snapped towards the approaching agent and he choked back a squeak of shock.

Maine was calmly sitting beside him, his large hands taking up a controller. There was silence for a second before York gathered himself and continued.

“Well! There you have it folks, this game will be Agent Washington versus the reigning champion Agent Maine! Who woulda thought?”

“Certainly not you, dumbass!” South shouted.

“Don’t be mean, South!” North chastised.

“Oh what are you gonna do? Put me in time out?”

“Kinky! I want in!” 479er called back. From there the room descended into chaos.

As the room shouted and discussed possible orgies and sexual encounters Wash felt the couch sink as Maine moved towards him. Wash could feel Maine’s breath on his ear as the bald man whispered.

“Want to make a bet. I win, you do me a favor.” Wash froze. Maine’s tone wasn’t threatening per say, just adamant.

“And if I win?” Wash hissed back.

“I do what you want.”

“Deal.” Wash couldn’t stop himself before the words left his mouth.

“Enough!” Florida’s sweet tones were replaced by a sharp snap and the room quieted instantly. “Good. Now, let’s get back to the main event, shall we? Agent New York if you would?”

York slammed his mouth shut and nodded.

“Right! Now, the rules are this, both players have three lives, last one standing wins. No items, no outside help. Players pick your fighters!” York moved away from the screen and Wash began to go over his options. Wash could feel urgency take hold of his gut. He wanted to win not because he feared what Maine’s favor would be, but rather because of his own favor.

That favor was for Wash to know and for Maine to find out.

Wash turned back to the game at hand and blinked. Maine had chosen one of the weakest fighters in the game. They were neither hulking, nor tiny and they were easy to send flying off the stage. Their attacks tended to send the player in an out of control spiral and they had no powerful attacks or defenses. The only plus they had was numerous jumps and a decent recovery move so they could get back on the stage easily if they weren’t one-hit KO’ed. So Wash sucked in a breath and decided to stick to his usual fighter. No point in pulling out his best fighter against this character as Wash knew he would likely be playing into Maine’s hands.

“Player’s ready?” Wash nodded and Maine grumbled. “Begin!”

With that they were off. Wash decided to start the fight by charging in to see what Maine had to offer. Maine expertly dodged away, shooting down a number of weak hits onto Wash. So Wash kept charging in, switching from a clunkier run to jumping after the lighter character Maine had chosen.

Behind him Wash could hear the crowd cheering, but he only understood the language of the game. Maine was teasing him, keeping just out of reach and firing a succession of little shots that added up. Wash didn’t understand how quickly those shots added up until he was sent flying from the stage from a single light hit. Wash made a noise that resembled a curse, the words having left him as he vowed to keep a better eye on his health.

Wash got Maine off the stage by baiting him. Wash switched his tactics from charging to ranged and took to firing at Maine from one of the far edges. Maine switched from dodge and shoot to charging, hoping to push Wash off the stage. At just the right moment, Wash dodged, jumping behind Maine and aiming a powerful kick in the character’s back. Maine’s character went flying off the stage and Wash smirked.

The next death was a tie. Maine decided to charge in and Wash had the same idea. Wash was reading Maine’s movements as he fought back and as he and Maine went careening off the screen together Wash realized what Maine had been saying right then.

You’re an equal. If Maine knew what he was saying, and God Wash hoped but didn’t dare believe, then Maine was telling Wash that they were on equal footing. Not just in the game, but in real life, and that meant so much to Wash.

The final death made Wash lose all words. Maine was teasing him again, dancing just out of distance and shooting at him but this time Wash was wary. He watched his health and moved back to shoot at Maine. Then in a sudden movement, Wash was off the screen. It had been so sudden, Wash couldn’t move his character as Maine charged, his character nothing but a streak of light on the screen. With one loud satisfying crunch Wash’s character went flying off with no hope of recovery. As Wash released a string of furious and shocked tones and noises the room cheered for Maine.

Wash didn’t notice much, his mind grasping for words. He wasn’t mad he lost, he was upset he never knew that the character could do that! He was surprised because-

Maine had told him to take the goddamned plunge and just ask him out already. If Maine knew what he was saying through the game, then Wash was being invited to ask the man for that goddamned kiss. Well wouldn’t that be something?

“I won.” Maine’s voice broke through Wash’s mile-long stare, bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah. It was a- it was an amazing fight…” As Wash grasped for more words he noticed the Common space was now empty save him and Maine. How the other Agents left so quickly Wash could not figure out.

“You said. You spoke.”

“What? I don’t-“

“You baited. Means you wanted me to talk first.” Wash froze, every inch of his body tensing.

“You understood all that.” It was a statement rather than a question, Maine only nodded. Maine seemed to shrink a bit, he hunched over and though his scowl never left, his eyes seemed nervous.

“Don’t talk well. The game made more sense.”

“Yeah. I know that. I know that very well.” Maine’s eyes seemed to shine brighter, coming to understand that Wash had been talking back to him through the game. Before Maine could open his mouth Wash skittered up to his feet and to Maine. Wash pulled off his helmet and tossed it onto the couch. He then pressed his lips against the larger man’s, gripping Maine’s shoulders as he hoisted himself up to meet Maine’s lips. To his surprise Maine kissed back, picking Wash up with ease and holding him up.

Wash was quite happy here. He could get used to being lifted and held by this man. Maybe--

“Woo! Get some Wash!” Wash sputtered, breaking away from the kiss as South’s voice broke through his bliss. Wash buried his face into Maine’s chest and Maine wrapped his arms around his head in an effort to shield him.

“Leave.” Maine growled and South scoffed.

“Fine! Next time you want me to cover you while you sneak off to your little boyfriend, I’ll remember this!” South shouted running off as Maine growled like some large cat. Wash pulled away once he was sure South was gone, his bright blue eyes and freckled face peering up at Maine’s grey eyes.

“Thanks,” Wash muttered.

“Welcome.” Maine adjusted his hold on Wash, shifting the man so that he was carrying him Bridal style, and began to leave the room. Wash tensed.

“Wait! Where?”

“Bed.” Before Wash could as again Maine spoke. “I won. Wanted you to spend the night. Wanted to-“

“Cuddle?” Wash offered as he noticed Maine’s face skew up in thought the same way his did when he lost his words. Maine nodded and Wash smiled softly.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Suddenly a memory resurfaced and Wash’s eyes grew wide. “You!”

“Hmm?”

“That night! It was a, a couple weeks before all this started, I saw you playing!” Maine nodded.

“Mhm.” Wash narrowed his eyes.

“Did you take me to medical?” Wash pouted as Maine began to laugh, a deep and shaking laugh that made Wash’s legs turn to jelly. Thank God he wasn’t standing!

“What? I’m serious! Maine!” As Maine continued down the hall, laughing all the way, Wash couldn’t help but think that he could live like this quite happily.


End file.
